Highblood's Vessel
by Nepeta Speaks
Summary: You were chosen for a purpose, and soon you learn Gamzee isn't the only Makara with secrets. (Contains smut)


- HIGHBLOOD'S VESSEL-

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_Hello again. New fic. Plz read, and plz review, I worked hard on this. _

_TW: smut. TW: dubious consensual smut AND bondage/bdsm_

_OK, THIS IS QUITE AU, WITH TROLL REPRODUCTION BEING VERY SIMILAR TO HUMAN REPRODUCTION. _

* * *

Your name is Anabel, you are a Rustblood. You are eighteen earth years old, and have the typical black hair and grey skin of a Troll. Your eyes are a rusty red color, the main reason you ended up in this mess.

You were taken from your hive, which was in a small village filled with low bloods, clustered together in an attempt at safety. This was stupid. They found you, of course they found you, all of you. Some they killed on the spot until the grounds of your home ran with shades of red and orange. Some of you tried to run, you among them. They caught you, of course, threw you into a caged cart and took you to Him. One by one your people were slaughtered. Some were enslaved, sent to the kitchens or as cleaners or servants. Then it came to you.

You were dragged forward shackles clinking, and dropped on your knees at the foot of the grand throne. The Highblood had stood, roughly grabbed you by the chin and looked you up and down before nodding to himself and ordering you be taken to what he called the "Red Room".

Which is where you are now.

Currently, you are shackled to a slab of stone resembling an Altar. You're not quite sure how you got here, but you're almost certain it has something to do with a capricious juggalo and his equally capricious Grand Ancestor.  
You're also fairly sure it's something vaguely perverted, because you keep hearing the phrase "Vessel".

The two males are out of your sight range, but you can hear them. It's then that they address you.  
"She's awake," Gamzee tells his Ancestor, shoving his face right near yours. He reeks of Faygo and Sopor, but you're not going to point that out, because in his hand he holds a club, the sort he used to bludgeon Nepeta to death.

"Give her the choice!" booms the deep voice of the Highblood.  
"So, wicked sis, what's it gonna all up and motherfucking be?" Gamzee asks, "let me and my Ancestor have some fun, continue our bloodline... Or die a motherfucking painful death?"

Death, your brain tells you at once. Shut up, you retaliate. You can sit up a little - the shackles allow it - and take in your captors. Tall, handsome in a rogue way, terrifying as all fuck, but made of muscle and regality. A small part of your brain wants them, both of them.  
"Vessel," you say, "I choose vessel."

You choose it, not because you don't want death, but because you WANT them. Well, Gamzee anyway, you can't see his Ancestor, who's lurking in the shadows, but if he looks anything like his Descendant... Well.

Gamzee looks somewhat surprised, but throws down the club anyway.  
"Good motherfucking choice, my wicked sis," he grins, "I have it on good sources that I'm... To die for, some say, in bed..."  
You can't help but roll your eyes - typical male. The smirk is sharply wiped off your face when he tears your dress off. Literally. You give a small shriek of surprise.

"Now, I can't actually carry on the bloodline," Gamzee growls, "but I figured I'd have some fun and get you used to it before my Ancestor does."  
You're too focused on his words to note that he was stripping his clothes off with a sort of elegant, lazy ease.  
But then he climbs up onto the altar and you see him - all of him - and you almost faint. Particularly at the sight of a certain appendage. All nine and a half inches of it.  
"Fuck..." You squeak.  
"You'll be all up and fine, sis." Gamzee says, but he doesn't touch you - doesn't hold you, doesn't kiss you, doesn't bite or suck your breasts, no matter how much he wants to. You are not his to take.

He seems almost apologetic in those glazed eyes as he carefully - but not too carefully, not with his Ancestor watching - slides into you. You scream out at the pain, and his eyes narrow at the fact that he can't make it hurt less.  
"It'll be better soon," he murmurs.  
You just nod, mute from the screaming. The pain eases a little and he starts to move, stretching you until it doesn't hurt anymore, until you're almost moaning at the feel of him inside you. Unfortunately it's then that he withdraws from you, spilling his seed over the side of the Altar. With a final glance at you, he gathers his clothes and retreats to the shadows.

You tremble from a combination of pleasure and fear as the Grand Highblood approaches you. He's fucking tall - seven or eight feet at the most, just as handsome as his Descendant, and just as well hung - actually, more so, you realise, and despite the terror of this entire situation, you wonder if having a fourteen-inch dick is normal for Highbloods.

This one, you realise, IS allowed to touch you, and he does.  
"Don't be all up and scared, lil' mama. You are doing me a great favour. I will ensure it will be pleasurable," he growls, a shiver running down your spine at the nickname he has bestowed upon you.

You open your eyes, stare into his deep purple irises, and see death and menace, but a flicker of desire. His mouth covers yours whilst you're distracted. You don't dare fight, and anyway, the kiss, despite being rough, is divine. His large hands fondle your breasts - surprisingly large for such a slight built female - and he tears his mouth from yours to suck teasingly at your left breast, then the right.  
The wetness between your legs, you realise, is no longer just a remnant of Gamzee. You want this Highblood, although because of your filthy low blood status, you have no right whatsoever to want him. Luckily for you, he wants you.

"You like this, lil' mama?" He growls into your ear.  
"Y... Yes!" You manage to gasp out as you feel his hard, writhing member at your entrance.  
"I all up and have a motherfucking feeling you'll like this even motherfucking more," he replies, and slams into you. It's the most exquisite pain/pleasure you've ever felt. Luckily you don't have to stretch too far to accommodate his sizeable appendage, so the feeling jolts straight to pleasure. Within seconds he has you screaming in ecstasy, legs, although still chained, wrapped as far around his waist as you can reach, pulling him deep inside you. The feeling of his impressive length inside of you is divine; it writhes and coils inside you like an angry, wild creature.

"Still so... Motherfucking tight... Lil' mama..." He growls, thrusting into you slowly, precisely.

"What do I... Oooohhhhhhh... Call you..?" You ask between long, high moans.  
"By my motherfucking title, peasant." He growls, suddenly enraged at your daring, he cuts the slow, almost gentle crap and starts to pound into you relentlessly until you're screaming his title at the top of your lungs, certain you'll explode from the pleasure.

"Just a warning, lil' mama... I can go for a motherfucking long time," he growls into your ear. The best you can, being shackled and all, you grab him and kiss him hard, devouring his mouth as he moves deep inside you. There's a loud SNAP as your chains are broken, freeing your legs and your arms; he almost lies back on the altar, but remains somewhat sitting, forcing himself deeper inside you. You smirk - now's your chance to push him over the edge, you want to hear him moan, at least once. Taking advantage of the new position, you ride him hard and fast, mewling breathy moans of "H-Highblood... Ohhhhhh... Hiiighblood!"

Perhaps it's your pathetic attempt at domination, or perhaps it's your genuine lust and want that pushes him over the edge. Either way, with several final deep, passionate thrusts, he spills his seed deep inside you, pushing you over the edge with him; you contract around him and moan his name once again. A strange warmth fills you. Confused, you lock eyes with the Highblood, who, you can tell from his somewhat confused, somewhat delighted look, that he has felt it too.

"It worked?" You ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh yes," he says, "it motherfucking worked, lil' mama."

You're almost lost for words, and out of breath too, but you feel as though you've accomplished something. Your lover lies back on the altar, holding your much smaller body in his muscular arms.  
"You were so motherfucking good," he growls in your ear, "most of the others either die or never conceive. The one that last conceived was killed by the sea dwellers."

"That's how you know it worked, then," you mumble, exhausted from the waves of pleasure your body has suffered.  
"Sleep, lil' mama, nothing's gonna motherfucking harm you."  
You sleep.

XxxxxxxX

When you awake, you're lying on a warm, soft bed, covered in blankets and wearing a fancy nightgown. A dress hangs on a hook on the wall. You sit, then notice the little note beside you.

"Anabel -  
Rest well, then wear whatever you want.  
You are safe here, and infinitely valuable."

A throbbing pain in your nook brings you back to reality as you sink back into the pillows. Mm, rough sex. You wonder vaguely if being a vessel for troll grubs means you can't be touched like that again. Certainly not roughly... You're bruised all over, but you want more.

It's the middle of the day - the troll equivalent of night - and the place is silent except for the distant sounds of servants scrubbing floors, dusting drapes, and preparing the evening meals.  
You wonder vaguely where the Highblood went; whether he's asleep or brooding over something somewhere. Either way, he terrifies you, despite his pailing abilities being more than pleasurable. You decide not to focus on such matters for now; you're still exhausted and desperately need more sleep. Hauling the blankets up and over you, you curl into a ball and sleep.

XxxxxxX

You wake because you're uncomfortably warm. You aren't wrapped in blankets anymore, either, but in an increasingly familiar pair of large, strong arms. You let out a small "eep!" Of a combination of surprise and fear. To your surprise, the Highblood looks somewhat unhappy that you're still so afraid of him.

"Do you fear me, Anabel?" He asks in that deep, gravelly voice.  
"Bit hard not to, really." You reply.  
He snickers slightly at that, but then his expression turns to one of vague sadness.  
"This is not my true, current, form," the Highblood confesses.  
You stare at him, considering the idea he's gone crazy - or rather, crazier.

"If this isn't your REAL form, why use it?" You ask.  
He sighs heavily.  
"This and the other are BOTH my real form, depending on the universe," he explains, "this one is easier; in my other form, I cannot speak. I did not want you to fear me more than necessary."  
You ponder this for a moment, then his words sink in.

"What do you mean, you can't speak?" You ask, confused. He sighs, you've clearly hit on a topic he's not keen on.  
"I had a matesprit, once. I made her go deaf, by accident - I had a motherfucking nightmare and shrieked out so motherfuckin' loud it deafened her. In maddening remorse, I stitched my own motherfuckin' mouth shut." He explains and you gasp, shocked.

"If I revert to my other form, Anabel, you'll have to learn sign language - I can teach you, and I like to write things on a notepad occasionally anyway."

You nod, fully understanding. He shifts you from his grasp and stands, suddenly looking as though he was concentrating very hard on something. Before your eyes, his body shrank to a still-tall height of six foot three, his clothes morphed with him into something resembling a jumpsuit, patterned like a skeleton. His facepaint changed, eyes widened, hair tangled, horns reshaped.

You take in the entirely different - yet still recognizable - man in front of you, then stand, cautiously, and approach him. The first thing you do is reach up and touch the wiry stitches that cover his mouth. He flinches a little and you wonder, vaguely, if it hurts him, still.  
"You... Umm... You're still... Um... Really... Ummm... Handsome," you manage to get out, despite your embarrassment. He smirks as best he can with the stitches.  
"I don't know your name..." You say suddenly. He holds up a long finger and produces a small notebook from his sylladex. He scrawls on it then holds it so you can read.

"Kurloz?" You say softly.  
He nods, and scrawls again.  
"I'm sorry I hurt you." He's written.  
You stare at him.

"Will you stay like this?" You ask. He shakes his head, writes more.  
"Only by our night, Anabel."  
You smile: good enough. Of course, you haven't forgotten this is the man who hurt you, scared you, gave you a choice between vessel and death. But at the same time, you know something has changed within him, his personality has altered slightly, and you love it.

XxxxX

END PART ONE


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